


Day 9-10

by rhysgore



Series: Kinktober 2016 [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Drowning, Edgeplay, Kinktober, M/M, Monster Reaper, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, it's not prominent but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: One day, one of them is going to slip up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 9 + 10 of kinktober: asphyxiation & edgeplay. this one is significantly darker than any of those before it, heed the tags.

They’re never gentle with each other.

 

They weren’t particularly gentle with each other back then, but  _ back then _ it was all negotiated. A safe word or gesture every time, nothing that they didn’t talk about at length beforehand, established limits and all that. 

 

It all seems like such bullshit now. Gabriel knows a relationship without boundaries is a dangerous, unhealthy thing, but he and Jack are dangerous, unhealthy people. The years have made them both harder and colder than they ever were as young men.Some part of his body keeps him alive, makes his damaged limbs grow back and his bruises heal and his lungs flood with oxygen no matter how much he wants them to stop forever. He’s not healthy, but he can’t die, no matter how hard he tries. And Jack has the biotech, which Gabriel has watched bring him back from being literally half a man- stitching his ripped, twisted, half-severed limbs back onto his body while he remains in the golden light.

 

The years have made monsters out of both of them. When they fuck, there’s very little difference from when they fight- a few less pieces of clothing, and a little more lube to ease the way.

 

Gabriel’s bent over a bathtub, knees on the cold tile of the floor (it never heats up, his skin stays stubbornly frigid at the extremities), with Jack’s dick buried about as deep as it can go in his ass. His hands scrabble for purchase on the slick ceramic, and he knows he’s soaking Jack, getting water all over the floor, but he can’t-  _ think.  _ Can’t feel anything except the heat coiling in his gut every time Jack moves his hips, and the burning feeling in his chest as a hand holds his head underwater.

 

His vision is growing fuzzy around the edges, and his thrashing is growing weak when Jack lets him go, and he bursts out of the bathtub, gasping for breath. Gabriel coughs up water weakly, and the shock of being brought back sends a thrill through his entire body, even as it turns to twitching putty under Jack’s hands.

 

“Almost,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut as Jack keeps fucking him. “I was close.”

 

“To coming, or to dying?” Jack sounds breathless about either possibility, fingers tangling in the short curls at the base of Gabriel’s neck. He pulls, and Gabriel  _ moans. _

 

This is the game they play, somewhere in the midground between hate and love, this weird demilitarized zone they’ve created to separate themselves from the things they don’t want to admit they want, and the emotions they don’t want to admit they have. Jack tries to kill Gabriel, and Gabe tries to let him. He suppresses his body’s natural urges to turn to smoke, to grow mouths in places where they shouldn’t be, to sprout gills on his neck, anything to make him breathe again.

 

“Is there a difference?” His erection, pressed between his abdomen and the tub, twitches and leaks when Jack forces his head down again. He can’t hear, he can barely see, and in a few seconds, panic starts to set in alongside the burning arousal. His body tries to buck Jack off, but only succeeds in getting him at a better angle, the head of his cock pressing at Gabriel’s prostate with every drag and push.

 

Gabriel’s moans are muted through the water, precious air escaping him with each one. He gasps, and feels the water enter his lungs, feels his larynx seize up, cutting off everything, and god, it’s a fucking rush. One day, Jack’s going to kill him or he’s going to kill Jack, or maybe they’ll both go down in a blaze of mutually destructive glory that will wipe both of their sorry asses off the face of this godforsaken planet.

 

One day, one of them will slip up. Or they’ll have the courage to fucking end it. There’s not much difference at this point.

 

He’s nearly  _ there,  _ vision going black, body limp, breathing in water, and he wants to cry when pulled up, by his hair this time, the lights too bright after the growing darkness underwater, and this time, the shock is enough, he was close enough, the contrast between sensations is enough to pull an orgasm out of him, and he spurts cum all over the tile as he gasps in precious mouthfuls of oxygen.

 

One day.

  
Just not today.


End file.
